


Dignity

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Danny, stupid from lack of sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dignity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dogeared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/gifts).



It had been five days, five long fucking days of visual and audio surveillance around the clock. No one had done more than cat-nap since somewhere before the beginning of time, and Steve – the crazy fucking head case – had slept the least of any of them. This was, Danny figured, what happened when you released a Navy SEAL into the wild – he got convinced that only he and his team could possibly do the leg work on the case that looked like it would never, ever fucking end, and paced the HQ while looking over financial records, because sleep was for the weak and the subordinate or something, and who needed food? He was no better in a car, where he was coiled, restless energy, spilling silence and irritation all over Danny's nice seats. He didn't talk, and Danny had a theory Steve used only part of his brain to track the whereabouts of criminals; used the rest to think lovingly of all the years he'd spent hanging from trees by his ankles and shooting at bad guys while definitely not sleeping and preparing to drop into the run-off from glaciers where he'd do butterfly stroke just for the hell of it.

"That's it," Danny said, crack of dawn, day six, plans laid, barreling – he did good job of barreling, even if he did say so himself – out of his office. "That's it, we are done, _I am done_ , this is . . ." And he gestured wildly because words were inadequate in situations like these.

"You need a nap?" Steve asked, pausing in what was likely a reconnoiter of HQ, because god knows, walls could shift and glass become suddenly un-bullet-proof if not constantly watched.

"No," Danny said with what he believed to be truly admirable patience. "No, I just woke up from one, but thank you for asking."

"Then . . ."

"What I need is for you to shut up, right this second, and follow me." Danny headed for the doors.

"We're not scheduled – "

"Fuck the schedule!" Danny yelled, and there was silence behind him for a second or two, but – gratifyingly – it was followed by footsteps; the heavy, size eleven sort, and by the time he'd reached the elevator, Steve was right by his side. Danny could feel the way Steve was watching him, trying to figure him out, and when Steve seemed ready to say something that would prove dumb beyond the telling of it, he held up a finger and Steve shut his mouth. Danny counted it a win, counted every second of them in the car together not saying anything a big fucking win, and figured the silence would act as a ballast for when the shit hit the fan, a little karmic payout to the universe for when Steve realized exactly where they were going and lost his mind in spectacular fashion all over Danny's dash.

"What the . . ." Steve tensed in his seat. "This isn't the way to the stakeout."

"I know."

"This is the way to my house."

"I'm shocked. Truly."

Steve's right hand flexed into a fist for a second, then relaxed. "Turn the car around."

Danny didn't say a word.

"Danny, turn the car around."

"No."

Steve said something fervent and obscene under his breath. "We have a case," he said, and really, that was something, that tone of voice. Men with a greater sense of self-preservation probably did a lot of obedient shit when that tone of voice got used, but Danny was way past that point.

"HPD are covering the audio, Chin's finishing his shift at the warehouse, Kono's sleeping in a _real fucking bed_ any time about now, and, oh yeah, _HPD_ is _helping us out_." Danny didn't take his eyes off the road, but it wasn't as if he needed to see Steve's face to know there was, by now, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"It's not their case."

"Jesus, they are the _law enforcement community_ , you understand that? Their job, like ours, is to _catch the bad guys!_ We're not surrendering jurisdiction, we're just saying, hey, people, you think you could give us a hand with this tedious bullshit that we hope will actually net us one scum-sucking drug lord and his network of underlings, because none of us have slept since college!" Danny swung the car into Steve's driveway, turned off the ignition, got out of the car.

Steve was a mere fraction of a second behind him. "Give me the keys."

"Like hell. It's my car, and you're a danger."

"Oh, and you?"

"I _napped_. I lay my head down on my oh-so-comfortable desk and I surrendered to this dark, nasty, clawing need inside my body to _actually fucking sleep_ for like, two hours or something! Neither of us should be driving right now, but of the two of us, _I_ am the one who is least likely to drive us clear into the fucking ocean, so deal."

The veins in Steve's neck were actually raised, like he was waiting for his close up in some Special Forces documentary where extremely dangerous individuals were observed like meercats. "I am _trained for this shit_ ," he spat, and Danny was kinda glad the whole of the car was between them.

"You are trained for this shit," Danny said, shaking his head, because yeah, there was the problem. "You are trained for this – look, I know this is a very big concept for you to wrap your head around but listen up, because it's important. _Hell Week is over. The rest of your life is not a fucking test._ "

Steve visibly jerked backward as if punched, schooling his face into a perfect blank mask. "What?"

Danny wanted to strangle him, he really did. "Look, I am sure that I have been kept alive by the many and varied things you have done under cover of darkness – or hell, what do I know, in broad daylight – in countries I have never visited where men and women of different ideological persuasions to my own hatch plans to bring the world crashing down about my ears. _But this is not that job_. This is not a classified operation, you are not commanding some _fucking military unit right now_." He blew out a long, much-needed breath. "Just – let us help you out, okay? Let us . . ." He raised his hand, let it fall, all out of ways to explain things in a fashion a SEAL-head might understand.

Steve folded his hands across his chest, paced a couple of steps, stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I let you, all of you, sleep more than – " He squared his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable.

"I know, I know." Danny rounded the hood of the car. "This isn't about that."

Steve looked at him warily.

"I swear. I just need you to actually fucking sleep for like, six, eight hours or something, because . . ." He shook his head, trying to think of what exactly he wanted to say. "Just . . . trust me on this, okay?" There was a long, long moment of silence, a little longer than was strictly comfortable, but Danny forced himself to just stand there. And then Steve sagged.

"Okay."

Danny eyed him carefully. "Okay?"

"Okay." Steve scrubbed a hand across his face, then patted his pockets. "Shit, I left my keys at the – "

"I got keys," Danny said, turning toward the house. "I got keys, I got smarts, I got a crick in my neck like you would not believe. I got – " And he kept up the litany all the way down the driveway and into the house, herded Steve upstairs and into the bedroom, pulled back the covers on Steve's large bed, even picked up Steve's shirt and pants when Steve dropped them carelessly, stuffed them into the hamper, and only then let himself shut up.

"Danny," Steve mumbled, sprawled loose-limbed and exhausted across two-thirds of his bed. Now his defenses were down, they were completely down, and he looked like some big cat had worked him over, coughed him back up as a hairball, left him out in the sun stuck all over with grass and fur and where exactly was this train of thought going? Danny shook his head, tried to clear it. "Habit," he offered, and maybe he meant that as explanation of his erratic thought patterns, and maybe of his need to pick up laundry. He kicked Steve's boots under the bed.

"No, no, I mean – " Steve's eyes closed, and Danny watched with a certain amount of fascination as he forced them open again. "C'mere."

"Huh?"

"You too." Steve patted the mattress. "C'mon."

So, things had been headed this way for weeks now, months, a few days, and god he was tired. But he rallied, because, "Really? Right now? Now is when you, when _we_ – and not even . . . _sleep_ is your big move?" Danny sketched out the breadth of his incredulity with his hands. "I'm not even sure I can call this a move because we're talking lack of consciousness, you're barely – _look at you_ – keeping your eyes open, and now? Really?"

Steve blinked slowly, frowning; he seemed confused. "You're tired."

Which was the god's honest truth, and that probably explained why Danny was giving up without a shred of dignity, toeing off his shoes and pulling stupidly at his socks, hopping on one foot then the other and smacking his whole left side into the door frame as he went. "Hold on here, I – " He pulled off his tie, which took a couple of attempts, got out of his pants by grace and glory, whacked his elbow on the dresser as he struggled out of his shirt. "Ow, fucking, _ow_ ," he said helplessly, because shit, what was he even thinking, what was he _doing_ , and god, Steve's bed was great, it was a great bed, soft with fat pillows, and Steve was all over him and shit, the guy was warm, like, really warm, and he smelled good, and _fuck_. "We suck," Danny said, into Steve's neck, so drowsy he couldn't vocalize the longer thought behind the sentiment.

"Thanks," Steve murmured.

He actually sounded thankful, and Danny was going to think about that later when he wasn't occupied by the way Steve's hand felt against the small of his back. "Sure, no problem, anytime, fucking space case," he offered, and Steve laughed softly against him, and okay, that was good, real good, teamwork, something, the stuff, and later, okay.


End file.
